


Cherry Stained Lips

by 74days



Series: Zimbits Meet-Cute Au's [10]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, M/M, NHL Player Jack Zimmermann, Youtuber Eric Bittle, cook book, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: Eric is planning on making a cookbook, but he needs someone to take the pictures - who else to turn to than one of his avid followers?





	Cherry Stained Lips

The thing Jack loves about Bittle Bakes is that the recipes are so damn easy to follow. The YouTuber not only writes the ingredients down, but goes through each step no matter how many times he’s shown it before. Every time he starts a recipe he’ll go through everything you’ll need, from spoons to butter, and never stops half way through to add in something ‘extra’ he’d forgotten to mention. For Jack, that kind of planning and preparedness is ideal He loves it. 

He doesn’t love the calorie intake, the sugar, the oil, the butter (so much butter, seriously) or how good everything looks at the end. He sighs as he watches Eric pull out another perfect pie from the oven and smile at the camera. It’s unfair. Jack has the blogger on mute, because he’s supposed to be watching tape, not sitting on his laptop watching Eric, but he allows himself the distraction. Tater is sleeping on the couch beside him, and Poots is texting his latest girlfriend, not even bothering to look at the screen where padded bodies are slamming each other into the walls. 

Jack looks back at the laptop screen and Eric is chatting away, silently. He looks great, which Jack is pleased with. Although Eric didn’t ever talk about his love life, it wasn’t hard to work out what had been going on the last couple of months. 

He’s started making decadent desserts and sinful amounts of chocolates - about three months ago. Then after about a month it was what Jack (and everyone else who followed Bitty Bakes) knew to be ‘date night’ dinners - small servings of delicate morsels that looked stunning when plated up, a delight to the senses. That lasted about two months before a tired eyed Eric had posted a ‘quick and easy meal for one’ which screamed Comfort Food. His eyes had stayed sad for a week or so, but the twinkles was back, and looking just as put together as before. Jack had seen the highs and lows with Poots almost every other month, so it was easy to tell that Eric had broken up with his partner. Jack didn’t want to say ‘boyfriend’ but he kinda thought… 

Shitty would probably yell at him for making assumptions - but Eric was small, compact but fit in a way that made Jack think he knew his way around a gym, with these big brown eyes that seemed to glow in the light of the kitchens he worked in. His endearments to the camera felt warm and personable, and - yeah - a little gay. 

Scrap that, Shitty would definitely yell at him. 

Jack looked at the pie Eric was now cutting into, flaky crust and deep red filling that oozed out, staining the plate and the knife Eric worked with. He picked up his pen and looked at the pad of paper he had been working on, hockey plays in the margins. 

He wondered if he could substitute the cherry filling for some kind of protein mix. His last attempt was… edible. Kinda. He ate it, at least. Tater had screwed up his face and only eaten the small slice Jack had handed him. Maybe he could improve. He got some nice comments on his blog though. Mostly on his photography of the pie. 

His blog (Laurent Makes Food) wasn’t popular. In fact, he had 43 followers and he was sure 10 of them were spam bots, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t the feedback he did it for. 

“You need to focus on something.” His therapist has said, when she’s suggested it. “Perhaps a blog where you could write about something. Not Hockey or school.” She added, when he opened his mouth. He had just finished his online courses. He’d graduated 4 years too late, but he’d done it all the same. She knew he was at a loose end with what to do with his time now that he wasn’t studying. His nutritionist was on his back about his diet, and Jack just wanted to shut both of them up (he knew they were both doing their jobs, and doing them well, but that didn’t help him when he felt the pressure behind his eyes) and he’d said he was going to do a blog. About his diet. 

It hadn’t been… difficult… but it had been time consuming. Which was actually exactly what he needed to fill his evenings. He made the food - taking pictures of the process, he took photographs of the food when it was finished, and he wrote about how he made the food - while he ate the food. 

Normally all his meals were stone cold, because he found he enjoyed making sure the plate was shown to it’s best advantage, getting the angles correct for the best picture. He’d went and bought a fancy camera with different lenses and a light box and everything. He’d been experimenting with tilt photography. His meals were mostly cold. His pictures were lovely though. 

The food was… well… he could eat it. That's what mattered, right?

* * *

Bitty was stuck. His viewers were already getting bored of the ‘cooking for one’ videos he had put up and he was shocked at just how astute a whole lot of strangers had been about his break up, considering he’d never mentioned - couldn’t mention it - on his channel. Maybe Harris was right - he really was just too obvious. Just thinking about his ex made Bitty want to punch something, hard. He hadn’t been able to tell anyone about Harris - the other man far too worried that the wrong people would find out, which Bitty wholeheartedly understood. But after two months of secret meetings and ‘dates’ where Harris would find a hundred other excuses to not go anywhere…

Bitty would be the first to admit that he’d been a little lust dumb when Harris had smiled and told him that there was no need to take him to a fancy restaurant in Providence when Eric could cook just as well as anyone in Rhode Island - and wasn’t it just much more romantic at home?

He rolled his eyes and clicked through pinterest without seeing anything that caught his attention. He really  _ was  _ a dumb blond sometimes - Harris wasn’t even that subtle about the whole closeted thing. Eric was out - he was out the moment he moved out of his childhood home and went to Samwell - and although his momma sometimes tripped up over the ‘nice girl’ he was supposed to meet one day, his father was… a rock. It was Coach who introduced him to Harris, actually, which was nice and unexpected and made Eric's heart hurt in a good way. 

Harris was one of Coaches ‘boys’ who made it big. He was a good looking guy, all brawny and tan, and Eric knew the moment that they’d exchanged glances that he was interested in Eric. Which was nice. And the sex was pretty good. But the pressure of being a Queer footballer was just… 

Eric had expected them the break up. He’d expected it - but it still hurt. Especially because Harris had blamed him for being the problem. Because Eric was too obviously gay. Like Eric was wrong for liking Beyonce or baking or bow ties. 

He was getting himself all riled up again - which solved nothing - when he saw it. 

_ His pie _ . 

But not his pie. Some… frankensteined version of his pie. He prided himself on that distinctive lattice - and someone had  _ butchered  _ it. 

The tiny baby jesus himself could not have stopped Bitty from clicking the link. 

Laurent Makes Food. Well, at least it was descriptive, Bitty admitted to himself. He’d seen a lot of blogs with titles that gave zero indication what the actual blog was about, but, okay - Laurent apparently makes food. Or at least tried to make food, bless his heart. It was a basic (ha) blog with some absolutely stunning pictures of terrible looking food. The text was… dry.

Oh, the poor dear had actually linked Erics recipe too - and then explained why he had decided to destroy a 5 time county fair winning recipe because… his nutritionist… oh.

Oh.

That was interesting. He was trying take make healthy versions of Erics food. Because (and Eric couldn’t help but preen a little) they looked so good but he wasn’t allowed to eat half the stuff in them. 

Erics brain mentally calculated the supplies in his kitchen and frowned. Hmm… He had time to pop along to Costco and buy some more butter and a few extras… it wouldn’t be hard. He’d fed a few footballers in his time - low fat, high protein diets on a larger scale… 

He could so this...

* * *

Jack didn’t throw himself on the couch the moment that he got home because he was a grown man who didn’t have a tantrum in the middle of the room when he didn’t get his way any more (his maman still had one of those old VHS tapes of him doing exactly that from when he was about 5 years old so he knew what the results could be). He had a shower. He put his gear in the wash, making sure that he had the right settings and used the non-colour fading bleach powder that the shopping channels said were the best thing ever, and THEN he threw himself face down on the couch and screamed into the pillow. 

They lost the game. There was nothing Jack could have done, no play that would have made the outcome any different - His team played hard and fast and sometimes it just wasn’t good enough. Sure, they still had a chance of making it to the finals, the Cup was still in reach, it was just going to be a little hard to get there now. After a game like this, normally someone would go home with him, Tater, or Poots, but Jack had made it quite clear that all he wanted to do was go home and just… not think about hockey for 12 hours. At least. 

And he knew just how to go about it as well. 

With no one in the apartment to make him feel like an idiot for his viewing habits, he pulled out his laptop and linked it up to the massive TV that he’d bought when he first moved in. It was bigger than his childhood bed. A few clicks, a quick bathroom break and a bottle of water, notepad and pen, and he was ready to start. 

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the spacebar and watched as a larger than life, softly smiling Eric Bittle filled his living room. 

“Well hello ya’ll!” Eric said, and Jack knew the HD was worth every penny. Jack could make out every freckle on the bridge of Erics nose, could see the slight gold flecks hidden in the deep brown of his eyes. It was nice to hear that soft voice rather than relying on the subtitles that he normally had to use so that his teammates didn’t chirp him for life for watching a cute boy bake. Jack figured they might make fun of him less if it was porn. Jack wondered, for a split second, if Eric Bittle would ever do porn. He shifted positions on the couch. Certainly not the best idea to think about that for too long. At least not on his couch in the middle of the day. “So I was f having a bit of a creative blip the other day, and I know ya’ll are getting real tired of my ‘meals for one’ so I was tryin’ to find somethin that would shake it up a lil, and you know, I found somethin that made me have a sit back and think!” He was smiling at the camera and Jack found himself smiling back. There was just something really nice about the way Eric spoke, how he acted like the camera was a real person, a friend. It relaxed Jack better than any pills that his shrink could ever give him. 

“I know that so many of ya’ll are tryin to be good with your diets and your meals, and us Bittles aint as dumb as we make out - we know these pies and treats are playin merry hell with any diet you might be on.” He paused. “My daddy’s a coach, as ya’ll know, and he’d whoop my butt if he thought I’d be handin out these pies to his boys.” 

Jack nodded. He’d tried to make one of Eric’s pies back when he started watching the show and his nutritionist had nearly fallen out of his chair over the sugar spike in his blood results. He’d been banned from even trying to make it again - and on no accounts was he ever -  **_ever_ ** \- to give anything to Tater. 

“So, in order to help out all you folks who want to try out some of the recipes that I put up, but also don’t want to spend a thousand hours in the gym afterwords, I’ve put together a couple of episodes with…” He paused and winked at Jack - at the camera! Jack corrected himself - “Less butter, less sugar and less fat. But - and this is the important part - not any less taste.” Eric paused. “So you can stop replacing stuff with protein powder, Mr-Makes-Food.” 

Jack sat up and blinked. No. No.

There was no way that Eric Bittle had seen his blog. His blog where Jack admittedly butchered Erics wonderfully decadent food. Had… Had Eric seen Jacks attempt to make his food and… what? Made a whole show  _ just  _ for Jack?

A warm feeling bubbled up in Jacks gut, which he tried in vain to tamper down. It was probably just a… a… coincidence. That Eric had almost said his blog title by name. 

“So today we’re going to need the following items - and you’ll never know how much pain it caused me to do this...”

* * *

Jack made the pie. It didn’t have any protein powder. It used bananas and dates and Jack spent a long time trying to work on the lattice because Eric had made it very clear that if he was going to change the recipe to be almost unrecognizable then he darn well expected the lattice to be perfect. He spent a long time taking pictures, and the end result was… well… Jack didn’t like to think of anything he did as perfect, there was always room for improvement, but as he looked at the pictures he’d taken, carefully adjusting the pie so that the little leaf shaped pastry toppers (using almond flour and tapioca and other things Jack had needed to ask the person at whole foods to help him find) were shown at the best angle, he felt a sense of pride that he never normally felt off the ice. 

He didn’t have any of the nice boxes that Eric used, but he did have a tupperware that he could just about fit the pie in without too much jostling, and cut himself a slice. 

* * *

Eric wouldn’t say that he stalked ‘Laurent Makes Food’ for the next four days, but he knew that he was lying to himself. It took three days for Laurent's blog to update - he didn’t seem to have any kind of schedule but then there it was. Eric’s healthy pie. He’d been so proud of that - it hadn’t been as good as the pie that his momaw won the county fair back in the 50s but it wasn’t too far off. He’d made four different versions and got coach and half his high school team to vote on the best. 

And there it was - perfectly replicated, even right down to the little details that he’d been so sure that Laurent would just skip, the little leaf topper, the carefully scalloped edges. Eric read the blog, bland as it normally was - how Laurent had gone to wholefoods and needed to ask for help to get some of the ingredients, how he’d tried so hard to follow all the instructions. 

And then, later, how he’d meant to take the pie into his work the next day but had ended up eating the whole thing in the middle of the night. Eric found himself preening. He had a few more recipes that he was planning on trying out, and it looked like Laurent would be the perfect test-subject. 

His regular viewers seemed to be happy with this new healthy option - a few of his more heavy commentators (whom he often thought of as his PTA moms) were asking if this would be compatible with their atkins diet. He hadn’t a clue, but he did take a few notes. It looked like he had a lot more research to do. 

* * *

Jack made the pie again, and saved himself a lot of time by not take a million pictures. He also made himself a promise not to eat a single slice. That turned out to be harder than he expected, especially when he brought out the tupperware and even Tater - known for eating pretty much everything that was in front of him - took a step back. 

Jack frowned. “No, I promise - merci - just try it.” Carefully taking the pie out, he pointed to the little leaf on the top. “Look at that.” He smiled. “It looks just like it’s meant to.” 

He could see Nate walking over, take one look at the pie and speed up. “Jack! I told you-”

Faster than light, Jack pulled out the recipe sheet that he’d printed off. “It’s a healthy one! I made sure!” 

Carefully plating up the pie as Nate looked over the recipe, Jack handed a slice to Tater. “I promise. This is a good one.” He said, “I made two, but I already ate one.”

Nate seemed to be happy with what he saw as he leaned forward and snagged a plate. “I would still suggest moderation here, Jack,” He pointed out, “But I’m more than happy for you to include this in your diet plan.” He cut a bite out with his fork and lifted it to his lips. Jack tried not to see the way that Tater screwed up his face as Nate chewed. “Oh wow,” He said, after a moment. “Jack, this is really good!”

Jack beamed. “I got the recipe online,” He said, as Tater grabbed a plate and didn’t even bother with a fork, just picking up the slice with his hands and taking a large bite. “They are doing like, healthy versions of stuff now.” 

* * *

Jack wasn’t sure what possessed him to comment on Erics youtube page. “I made this and everyone at work said it was the best thing they’d ever tasted and even our nutritionist said it was diet plan approved.”

* * *

Eric grinned at the comment on his page. Jack Laurent had apparently made an account just so he could comment on Eric’s pie, which really shouldn’t have made him so happy but it did. He’d changed things a little so that he’d be making two pies per episode now - showing the original high fat, high sugar version, and then the second - much healthier - pie and show them side by side. Although he’d be kidding himself if he said that you couldn’t tell the difference (no matter what anyone said, Eric knew that there was no real substitute for real butter, and no amount of bananas were going to change the final texture when using eggs) he was more than proud of the amount of people who were starting to use his page more and more. 

It was his friend, Lardo - whom he’d met at college - who put forward the idea of making a recipe book. 

“Bitty, you know you can do it - and self publishing is a great way to go. You’ve got the money to pay for the initial start up, and it’s not like you’ll be printing thousands - just do like a pre-order thing and go with that. It’s way past time for you to spread your wings and everyone knows someone who likes recipe books.” 

“I don’t know,” He started, but Lardo was a force to be reckoned with.

“I can do the art - like the cute little doodles and drawings of all the concept stuff, and you can do the writing and baking and stuff.” She whipped out her phone and grinned. “I can get Ransom to make up a spreadsheet with the costs and Shitty can make sure that you don’t get screwed over with the contracts.”

The more Eric thought about it - his own recipe book, out there in the world, the more he liked the idea. Sure, it might not come to anything, but then… what if it did? What if he ended up being more than just ‘Local Baker’ Eric Bittle? 

“All you’d really need was someone to take some pictures.” Lardo said, and Eric didn’t even think twice before he blurted out:

“Oh, I might know someone.” 

* * *

Jack looked at the comment on his blog. It… couldn’t be right? Could it?

“Hi Laurent! My name is Eric Bittle, and I’ve noticed that you’ve been following a few of my recipes. I’ve been very impressed with your photography and I was wondering if you took freelance work? If that is something that you might be interested in, could you please email me? If not, thank you for supporting my little show and good luck with your creations in the future!”

Jack blinked. 

Eric Bittle had emailed him. 

He sat back and took a breath. There was no way that this was actually happening. Eric probably had a million viewers who made his stuff all the time - there was no reason for him to single out Jack at all. He hadn’t seen the comment at first, having disabled them after getting mostly bots telling him about horny singles in his area, but this… this was actually Eric Bittle. 

Who had taken the time out of his day to message him. Jack. He had to reply. 

What the hell was he going to say? 

“Hi Eric,” He started, taking his time to write so that he didn’t miss-spell something and look like a total idiot. “I’m very flattered that you would contact me. As much as I would love to work with you on any project that you have, my own work schedule is incredibly busy and I may not be able to commit to a time frame suitable for you. If all goes well with work, I may not be available till mid April.” As he typed he felt those butterflies that normally were whizzing about in his gut settle down like lead weights. He was actively giving up the opportunity to meet Eric Bittle in person. 

He sighed. 

It was probably for the best, anyway. Jack tended to be a bit of a disappointment when people met him for the first time anyway. 

* * *

“Hi Laurent - or should I call you Jack? I don’t know what would be best, darlin, I’m sorry! The reason that I was contacting you was that I am trying to write a recipe book and I love the way that you photograph your creations. The good thing is that I’m not so much on a time frame as I’m on a budget - I’ve got everything ready to go, recipes picked and all written up, but I need someone to take the final pictures of each recipe, and then it’s off to the printers! I ain't gonna lie, I can’t afford to pay you a lot of money, because I’m doing this via kickstarter, but I can certainly work around a schedule if it’s something that you are willing to do? I’d much rather pay someone who I already know likes my pies than a complete stranger! I’m based out in Rhode Island, so I don't know if that would be an issue for you? Obviously I don’t really have the travel budget if it turns out your in LA!” 

* * *

Eric lived in Rhode Island. Jack very nearly landed on his ass when he read that line - Eric Bittle lived in his state - not some far flung southern county that Jack had always just assumed from his accent, all honey and smooth. Jack wondered if he liked Hockey - if he’d seen any of the posters around of Jacks unsmiling face. Jack wondered if he’d ever been to a game. Had he seen Jack play? Jack felt those butterflies again. 

“Hi Eric,” He typed. “Most of my friends just called me Jack. I’m in Providence. Although I have limited availability if you give me a time frame I can see if it would work out? I can bring all my own gear - it does take a while to set up and take the best pictures, so it would probably be a couple of hours if you just wanted the finished products, longer if you want to have some progress pictures.” He paused. Jack didn’t need the money, and he’d checked out the Kickstarter page that Eric had linked him to, which had a lot of backers but was still pretty tight, budget wise. “My job pays pretty well, and photography is just a hobby of mine. If you are willing to name me as the photographer I would happily forgo payment.” 

* * *

Eric was nervous as hell. Lardo and Shitty had come over to his small apartment to make sure that Jack wasn’t a serial killer and (which Bitty thought was more likely) to get to taste whatever Eric was making. 

It had taken a couple of weeks to work out a time that suited them both best - Jack had odd hours here and there that never quite seemed to match up with Eric’s coaching lessons. They’d been emailing back and forth for a while though, and although Eric was 100% that Jack wasn’t a serial killer stalker, Lardo and Shitty were a little harder to convince. 

“He doesn’t even want paid, my man.” Shitty had argued, which had caused Eric to roll his eyes dramatically because Shitty also hadn’t wanted paid for all the work that he was putting in to making sure that Eric had a cast iron contract with the publisher that was willing to take him on. They had been going to self publish, but the Kickstarter had gotten a few people interested and Shitty had put a lot of hours into getting the fine print worked out. Eric would use the Kickstarter funds to produce the book, get the art, pictures, recipes and layout done, and the publisher would take on the promotion and production. 

“Shitty,  _ you  _ don’t want paid.” He pointed out, and fixed his hair once again. Jack would be arriving soon and they had all day to get pictures done - Jack had agreed to take a few of the process and the final result, and then he’d edit and send them on to Lardo, who would be adding on the little art doodles and cute little squiggles that would highlight the important parts. 

Right on time - in fact, almost as soon as the second hand hit 8am, the buzzer from the main door sounded, like Jack had been waiting for the time to be perfect before he pushed the button. “Oh good lord!” Eric mumbled under his breath, as he pressed the intercom. “Hello?”

“Ah, Eric? It’s Jack?” His voice sounded deep, perhaps even with an accent, which Eric hadn’t been expecting, although that might have just been the interference from the crackling intercom. 

“Sure thing sweetpea, let me just buzz you in.” 

* * *

Jack carried his equipment up the four flights of stairs to Eric Bittles apartment. It wasn’t the best part of town, but not the worst either. At least the door was secure enough, which Jack appreciated - not quite as safe as the doorman who looked after Jacks building, but a definite deterrent to anyone looking to cause trouble. And maybe he hadn’t noticed, but Eric had called him Sweetpea, and that made the heavy bags on his shoulders just feel that little bit lighter. Maybe he called everyone sweetpea. It didn’t stop Jack from giving a little smile as he walked along the corridor. 

It was easy enough to tell what door was Erics. It had a mat outside that said “Welcome, Ya’ll” and the door was painted a sunny yellow colour. It would have been impossible to miss. Jack shrugged the bag a little higher on his shoulder and rapped once on the butter yellow door. 

He could hear voices on the other side - Eric had told him that his friend Lardo (who would be doing the artwork for the recipe book) and her husband Shitty (who would be eating most of the pie) would be there as they worked. Jack didn’t mind. It made a lot of sense for Eric to have people over for the first time they met. It would make Jack feel a little more self conscious, but as least Eric would feel more in control of the situation, which was important. 

After a few moments, the door opened, and - rather than Eric - a taller man with a very loud Hawaiian shirt and a truly impressive mustache stood in the doorway. He looked at Jack, momentarily slack jawed for a second and then:

“You glorious motherfucker.” He breathed. “You’re Jack Zimmerman.” 

Jack nodded. There really wasn’t a lot he could say to that. “Uh, yeah.” He managed after a beat too long. “You must be Shitty?”

“Jack Zimmerman knows my name.” Shitty said, before shaking his head for a moment and clapping his hands together a little too loudly. “Well excuse my fucking rudeness, your royal hockeyness.” He said, standing back. “Come on in. Bits is already in the kitchen.” He lead Jack into the hall, which was narrow and not very well lit, but Jack could see that a lot of effort had been made to try to make it brighter and more welcoming. “Bits kinda forgot to mention that ‘Jack the photographer’ would also be ‘Jack Stanley Cup Winner’.” Shitty was saying, as they walked. “Sorry I got a little carried away there.”

Jack nodded, even though Erics friend was in front of him and wouldn’t have been able to see. “Honestly I don’t think he ever asked what I do for a living.” He said, “It was nice, you know?”

“Shit, man, I bet.” The hall opened up into a room, about half the size of Jacks closet, but which was obviously the main living space. There were two couches, pressed close together in order to make the most of the space, and an old TV pushed against the wall. Everything was painted in bright colours that made Jack think about his own very bland apartment and cringe. 

“Yo Bits, Jackie Boy is here.” Shitty half yelled, which Jack didn’t think was really needed, because the apartment was so small that Jack was pretty sure you’d be able to hear a whisper from one end to the other. 

“Well, heya darl-”

* * *

Jack Laurent wasn’t just the most beautiful man that Eric Bitty had ever seen in his life, but he was also Jack Zimmerman, one of the most beautiful hockey players on the planet - and he was standing in Eric’s cramped living room looking a little uncomfortable and Eric just wanted to die. Good lord, he still had his beard - which meant that playoffs weren’t over! Which meant that on one of his very rare days off, Jack Zimmerman, captain of the Providence Falconers, had chosen to come to Erics apartment and take pictures of his food for fun. Eric could feel the warm welcome die on his tongue as he stared at Jack - all 6ft and a bit of him, good lord - someone, somewhere was testing him mightily - and felt his face flush. 

Jack was wearing a pair of jeans that hugged his thighs so well (but then, Eric was pretty sure the man could wear a gunny sack and still stop traffic) and a white shirt, with a blue windcheater that he’s left unzipped despite the weather outside. He had a few heavy looking bags on his shoulders, which probably had all the photography gear that he had brought with him and good lord, was Eric still staring?

* * *

Jack wasn’t sure if he was even breathing. Eric Bittle was wearing a white vneck tshirt that hugged him in all the right places, and a pair of black jeans. He looked good enough to eat, small but more muscular than Jack had been expecting in person, especially since he spent so many hours watching Erics videos. His arms were toned and tanned, despite that there hadn’t been any sun strong enough to do anything other than warm the ice air for weeks. Jack was trying not to notice the fine dusting of blond hairs on those toned forearms - and his HDTV never once picked up on the few sparse curls peeking out from the v-neck. He looked like the personification of summer, with his warm smile and honey blond hair. Jack knew he was staring like an idiot, hardly even trusting himself to move, aware that he felt like a flower, leaning towards the brightness of the sun. 

“Um,” Eric said, and he was staring at Jack, with a blush forming over the bones of his cheek and Jack liked that a lot. A lot. “Well, um, I’m so sorry! I just wasn’t expecting, uh. Jack Zimmerman.” He paused. “Good Lord!” 

Jack found himself smiling, saw how Eric blushed even more when he did and tried not to preen. Good chance that Eric Bittle thought he was good looking. He could work with that. “Well, I tend not to do much else outside of hockey.” He agreed, trying desperately not to sound like the hockey robot that everyone always called him. “Getting noticed for my photography was a really big deal for me.” He added. “Especially because I’ve been such a huge fan of yours for a long time.” 

He watched as Eric blinked, and blushed even harder. “I mean, young obviously saw my terrible attempts at trying to make your pies a little easier on my diet.” Jack added, and was rewarded by a blinding smile from Eric. 

“Oh good lord, bless your soul, I did. Honestly, that was why I decided to try to make healthier options. My poor heart just could not cope with the idea of someone using protein powder in one of my recipes!” 

Jack grinned, heart beating a little faster than he knew it should be, but he couldn’t help it. Eric was looking up and him and smiling and those butterflies were swooping around in his gut. 

“Well, um, why don’t we get started, Mr Zimmerman?” He said, inviting Jack into the small kitchen.

* * *

Jack had never thought of himself as being a devious person. But when it came to Eric Bittle, it turned out that Jack was willing to stretch the truth out as far as he could without outright lying. 

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to take a lot of progress shots in here.” Jack said, after backing into the counter behind him for the 5th time. “There is just isn’t enough space for me to maneuver around - it would be okay if you wanted pictures from a fixed point - like a laptop - but if you want more dynamic pictures, I need more space.” 

Eric looked crestfallen. “I was really hoping that we’d be able to do them here.” He sighed. “Renting out a kitchen is possible, but it means that I’d have to get every recipe done in the one day, and that’s a logistical nightmare.” 

Jack paused. Took a breath. “My kitchen is pretty big.” He managed, after taking a break to get the words in the right place. “I mean, I can get everything set up there and it might be easier for you to come to me, rather than the other way around.” 

For a moment, Jack thought Eric was going to jump at the idea, but his expression changed pretty quickly. “That would be great, sweetpea, but I’d have to bring all of my stuff with me and that’s just… a whole kitchen.”

Jack nodded. “I mean, when I bought the place, my mom kitted everything out. I don’t think I’ve even used half the stuff, but I have a mixer and things.” Jack lied. “I think she just got everything all at once.” He paused. “I mean, you could come over and take a look and if you need anything, then you can bring stuff?”

* * *

Jack had never walked into a Williams Sonoma in his life, but he had gone home, taken one look at his kitchen which had an oven, a dishwasher and a stove top and knew that Eric would be able to tell he was a lying piece of crap within three and a half seconds. He did, however, have money and a working knowledge of what kinds of things Eric used in his videos. If his father had taught him anything, it was this:

He walked into the center of the store, looked left, looked right, and gave a deep sigh. 

Almost instantly, someone appeared at his side, a smile and look of helpfulness. “I need,” Jack said. “Everything.”

* * *

Eric knew that going to Jack Zimmermans apartment was going to be a bad idea. The man was cute as hell, and Eric was also pretty sure, knew that Eric had a crush the size of Texas on him. He knew about Hockey, of course he did, living in Providence, where Hockey was king and giant posters of Jack Zimmerman were pretty much on every billboard ever, but he didn’t know a lot about the man. The person under the pads. 

So he’d googled the hell out of him once Shitty and Lardo had left. And what he found just made everything so much worse. 

Because Jack Zimmerman wasn’t just a cute as all hell hockey playing legend. Jack Zimmerman was a cute as all hell gay hockey playing legend. It wasn’t such a big deal now, because his team mate, Tater was married to a guy and Jack just didn’t seem to date anyone, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point was, he was sex on a stick and there was no way he was going o be interested in dating Eric Bittle, who spent most of his time trying to make money from his youtube channel or teaching little kids how to skate. 

But here he was, carrying a bag with all his ingredients inside, three days after meeting the man, because Jack had text him to let him know that he’d finished his daily skate and Eric could come over and see how he liked the kitchen - maybe make something and see if it worked for him. 

And Jacks building had a doorman. Of course it did. 

It wasn’t hard to find Jacks door, because on his floor there were only three doors, despite the size of the place, and Jack was standing at the open door looking just delicious in a pair of grey sweats and an oversized tee. It should have looked terrible. He should have looked like a slob, but he didn’t. He looked soft and huggable and Eric was in so much trouble because when he turned to wave Eric in, his ass in those pants was just… unfair.

Eric’s whole life was just so unfair. 

“The kitchen is just through here,” Jack was saying, leading the way, while Eric tried to keep his eyes on those broad, broad shoulders and not the way his ass was being hugged by soft cotton. “I already set everything up so that we can take some test pictures to see how everything looks.” He was saying, but Eric’s brain had stopped working. 

It was offline.

Gone.

Blue screen of Death. 

When Jack had told Eric that his kitchen had been kitted out by his mother, he neglected to mention that God himself had a hand in it. 

Everything matched. Everything - from the cherry red kitchen maid to the cherry wood of the Zwillings knives - everything was perfect. He even had the Mason set in red, just sitting on the counter top waiting for Eric to use. He felt like his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. It was his dream kitchen all laid out. “Oh.” He managed, because what are words?

“I thought if you wanted to maybe run through something basic today, and then I could find out where the best angles and lighting needs to be?” Jack was saying, unaware that Eric had been transported to another plain of existence where he got to touch all of the things. Dimly, he could see that Jack had set up a more complicated lighting system with large white sheets, but his eyes kept drifting back to that mixer. 

“Lets make some pies.” Eric agreed, putting the bag he’d brought on the table. There was no Lardo this time, no Shitty to get in the way - just an amazing kitchen and all these toys that Eric was desperate to get his hands on. “I talk a lot when I bake,” Eric warned.

“Thats okay, bud.” Jack smiled, picking up his camera and taking a picture before Eric was ready. “I’ll be taking a lot of pictures and the more relaxed you are the better.” 

* * *

Jack was happy. Eric was in his kitchen, moving around like he knew in his bones where everything was. He crooned over the mixer like it was a living thing, and Jack was able to take as many pictures as he wanted. He had to keep reminding himself to also take shots of the food that Eric was making too, but honestly, when Eric kept laughing and grinning up at him, Jack couldn’t help himself. The lighting was good, the smells were divine, and Eric kept looking up at Jack through his lashes and Jack was… just so happy. 

Eventually though, despite how Jack was putting it off, the pie was finished. Eric had made a cherry pie, the deep red of the filling spilling out onto the stark white of the plate, making the resulting pictures look absolutely decadent, the way that the sugar had crystallized on the top. Eric had known it wasn’t on Jacks diet plan so he didn’t cute him a slice, just held up a forkful to his lips and there wasn’t a power on earth that could have stopped Jack from looking at Eric directly in the eyes as the fork slipped past his lips. 

Eric blushed, not as dark as the filling, but still - his ears redder than his lips, and Jack couldn’t help but smile when a smear of cherry filling left a dark stain on his bottom lip. 

He tried to point it out to Eric, who looked away, blushing hard and wiping at the wrong side of his mouth. 

“No,” Jack said, putting the Camera down and gently cupping Erics chin. “Here.” Carefully, he swiped his thumb over Erics plush lower lip, feeling the way that the smaller man held his breath - eyes large with blown pupils - as Jack leaned forward. 

“Is this okay?” Jack murmured, swooping in as Eric nodded. 

He tasted rich and sweet, and just a little tart. 

* * *

Eric smiled at the cover of his fifth book. Jack had done the photography for this one too, and Eric could see the way his eyes shone on the cover, looking into the camera with a love that just couldn't be faked. 

_ “And we’re joined today with our special guest star, who is going to be making his signature dish, Maple and Apple pie - it’s none other than America's sweetheart - Eric Bittle-Zimmerman!” _

**Author's Note:**

> Still on too many pills for this stupid pain. I'm so easily distracted at this point that it's not even funny - it took me ALL DAMN DAY to write this and I'm still drifting in and out. 
> 
> I assume that there will be mistakes - I am sorry in advance.
> 
> Nonny wanted : Youtuber Eric.


End file.
